Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Dauphi Gendarmes. All the tension in Jak’s muscles abolished by Margo’s stories returned in an instant, for one of the many rumors repeated by the nervous refugees was that outriders from Daphina were blocking access to the province.

  The three riders may have been young, but their lined faces were dour and serious. When one of them yelled, the voice boomed with the force of authority. “Everyone stop immediately, by order of King Argenlieu and Queen Louisa.”

  Jak watched as Margo and Tomba backed away from the newcomers. Sensing the sudden change in mood, Mara began fussing anew.

  “Kluber,” Jak said to his companion. The older boy nodded and moved forward, toward the gendarmes and the growing mob forming around them.

  Jak met Calla’s eyes, and he tried to smile reassuringly. The gesture failed, for her lips pursed and the lines of worry in her face only intensified.

  “Should I run, Jak?”

  “What? Nay, why—” But he watched those small hands instinctively clutch her belly, and he suddenly understood her apprehensions. He stepped closer, taking one of those hands in his own. “Calla, we’re safe now. We’ve made it.”

  She did not seem to hear the words, for her attention remained focused on the riders. The one who had spoken continued to sit atop his black destrier, but the other two—a young man and woman so similar they could be brother and sister—dismounted and began tugging at the desperate citizens.

  “What are they doing?” Calla asked, though she knew the answer.

  “Looking for corruption,” Tomba answered. “They’ll turn back anyone they suspect of it. Or kill them.”

  Jak was relieved not only that the man had answered for him, but that his tone stayed calm. This was not a father unduly worried about his family. After the incident with Gronen, Jak was not sure he could take another misfortune.

  In contrast to Tomba’s composure, several of the other refugees could not hold back from cries of dismay. One gray-haired woman suddenly bolted from the crowd, disappearing into the trees as those around her watched and gasped. Jak was thankful he had never learned her name.

  “No one else run,” shouted the man on horseback. He unslung a crossbow from his mount. “I will fire at the next person who tries.”

  “Why don’t you let us by?” came a loud, desperate voice. The first of many.

  Aye, let us by… We’re people, not monsters… Please, we beg…

  An intensifying volume of rain accompanied the rising chorus, then the rumbling of thunder added its unwelcome refrain.

  The crowd pushed forward, and the dismounted pair stepped back and drew their weapons defensively. An elderly man grabbed the young woman’s shoulder, and she shoved him away with her free hand. He tumbled into a pool of mud and was nearly trampled by those behind, eager to take his place near the front. The shouts mixed into an incomprehensible din.

  The sky darkened rapidly. Lightning flashed off in the distance, followed a moment later by the menacing crack. Then, after a brief interlude, cries of horror.

  More people were coming down the road, joining the stalled group hoping to pass into Daphina. They, however, were not waiting idly, but running in confusion, yelling in unmistakable fear.

  Several shouting refugees pushed past the spot where Jak stood. He pulled Calla out of their way, saving her from the same fate as Margo, who was knocked to the ground. The kindly mother had managed to shield Mara from the worst of the fall, and Calla released Jak’s hand to go to the child’s aid. She scooped the infant into her arms as Jak reached out to help the woman, then was knocked aside by a tumult of leathery wings and murderous shrieks.

  He heard Calla yell his name. Catching his balance to avoid joining Margo in the mud, he looked into the red eyes of a demon-bat, just like the ones he had watched destroy his village.

  He knew them better now than he had then. Jak had read much about them in the Pantheon, taking particular interest in the fiends that devoured his home. He suddenly saw the image of a boy hunched over a tome of ancient lore, staring through a stone, absorbing knowledge for future use like a squirrel hoarding acorns. The velbat is a child and servant of Nagnuaqua, half-brother to man. Weaknesses include fire and light…

  “Jak!” Calla screamed again, and his image of the boy in the library pulled away, diminishing into darkness as two points of red light came into focus.

  The demon stared at Jak with palpable hatred, its claws twisting into the back of the woman on which it perched.

  “Save my baby!” Margo yelled at Calla. Her pained face turned to her husband, as Tomba stepped closer. “Nay!” Then her face was thrust into the mud.

  The man stopped, torn between his wife on the ground and the daughter on his shoulders.

  Jak continued staring at the demon’s face. The last time he had seen them, he had not noticed how very human their features were. It sneered at him, its barbs twisting into Margo’s flesh, daring Jak to act, wondering why he did not flee like the others.

  Because the time of fleeing was over.

  His face lifted, eyes focused on the blackened skies overhead. He did not even feel himself slice open his skin, was barely even aware that he had done so, but he raised the bloody palm toward the darkest of clouds in humble offering. Power surged through his body, then down from above.

  The bolt of lightning struck not the creature, but a tree ten paces away. Wood fractured and burst into flames. The noise would have been deafening, but Jak’s mind had long since blurred all sounds into an irrelevant roar of rain and thunder, shouts and cries. His mouth twisted in frustration, and he directed his anger into a second request—nay, a demand—to destroy the beast before him. Switching the knife awkwardly to his offhand, trying to get a firm grip despite the slick flow of blood, he finally managed to position the blade against the undamaged palm.

  Suddenly, a flaming branch connected with the bat’s head so solidly that it nearly tumbled off its hapless victim. Kluber swung a second time, and the force of this blow finished the job. He dropped the branch to grab Margo by the shoulders and pull her away.

  Jak stepped between them and the wounded velbat, hoping to take advantage of its momentary disorientation. Its wings opened clumsily, seeking either balance or flight. It mattered not to Jak, for he felt the burning inside his body blend with that of the tree, and he commanded the flames as if they were a part of him. They closed the distance in a split-second, bathing the demon in hot red light, forcing it to the ground just as it had done to countless others. The wings opened again, but there was no escaping the fire.

  Feeling no joy, Jak watched its shrieks and flops diminish until all movement ceased entirely. There was only relief, and disbelief.

  “We killed it,” he said. The smallest of victories, but the first time they had successfully fought back.

  He stared down at his right palm. He had neglected to cut it in the confusion of Kluber’s attack. How, then, did I—

  “Come on, Jak. We should hurry.” Kluber tugged at his arm with his free hand. The other arm was wrapped around Margo’s back, taking most of her weight as she struggled to recover.

  “Why?” Jak did not understand the urgency. His mind was as cloudy as the skies above, as disorderly as the mass of refugees, as weak as the sun at winter solstice. “Why?” he repeated. “It’s dead.”

  “I don’t think that’s what they’re fleeing.” Kluber’s voice trailed off as another hail of screams erupted from the road behind.

  An unnatural mist had wound itself around the trees. From it, a large dark creature emerged, still blurry in the haze. Some breed of great bear, grown to enormous proportions. Though wounded, judging by its awkward motions.

  Jak relaxed, for even a giant bear would cause no trouble to armed soldiers. It might even be another innocent fleeing the real danger, deeper inside the woods. If the animal was hurt, he might even be able to help it.

  Jak took several steps forward before his wits were fully returned, then stopped in his tracks. This was no b
ear, after all. Its shambling gait was not only awkward, it was all wrong. So was its fur, a mix of brown hide and black scales. The malformed legs were short and stumpy, better suited to reptile than mammal.

  The mighty head turned, and Jak thought he might have been looking at a giant lizard. Its eyes met his, and a forked tongue whisked across the muddy earth.

  This, then, was a blend of two animals, and both parts were angry. Its existence had become a vulgarity, a torture, and it sought retribution on anyone in its path.

  A crossbow bolt thudded into its flank, embedding deep within the patchy fur. The beast’s response was a monstrous growl and another twitch of the tongue. Then it loped forward, far faster than those stunted legs appeared capable.

  As frozen by astonishment as were most of the onlookers, Jak could only watch the confrontation unfold before his eyes. The velbeast charged toward the outriders, knocking aside several panicked civilians and scattering the rest.

  The three gendarmes faced the threat with admirable fortitude. Those on foot moved to either side, positioning themselves on opposite flanks, while the mounted officer drew the monster’s attention. He fired another bolt, solidly hitting the creature’s head, but ricocheting off the scaly hide harmlessly.

  Then the rider drew his sword and kicked his horse into motion, leaping forward with a yell. On the signal, his flanking companions started their own attacks.

  With surprising strength, the velbeast launched itself at the horse, bringing down the animal and sending the man flying. Then the two other soldiers struck its sides with their swords. The first few slashes failed to penetrate its natural protection, but the young woman quickly adapted her tactics and was able to drive her blade deep into the body with a determined thrust.

  Her yell of triumph quickly changed to one of agony as the irate animal clamped its jaws around her thigh. In less than a second she was lifted off her feet, then tossed through the air like a broken stick.

  The remaining gendarme took a single step back, then held his ground despite an expression of abject terror. The velbeast lunged forward, crushing him beneath its weight while the jaws went back to work. The young man desperately pushed away with useless arms, struggling to keep the massive head away from his own. Then he cried out as the savage teeth clamped down on one shoulder, tearing through mail and meat.

  The whole fight had not lasted long, but the sacrifice of the gendarmes bought time for most of the refugees to flee the area. Only a few remained, transfixed by the unfolding tragedy or too panicked to move. Soon they would all pay the price for their inaction, Jak foremost among them, if he did not run soon.

  Kluber was pulling on his arm, yelling in his ear, but Jak could not hear.

  The sudden change in fortune—from salvation to peril, then triumph to disaster—was wreaking havoc on his ability to think. And when thought failed, the habits of long years returned to the forefront. Gods help us, he prayed.

  The contradiction sounded off inside his soul, snapping his mind back to reality. There were no gods. Not yet. There is only me. And I already made this decision. There will be no more running.

  His breathing calmed. He felt his friend still tugging at him, but it appeared that Calla and the others were gone. That was good. They would be safe, if he could slow this thing down.

  Jak pulled away from Kluber and stepped not toward the fighting, but to the burning tree. Reaching out his cut hand to the flames, he felt the burning pain as a mere dull throb. He did not feel himself fall to his knees, his corporal form suddenly insignificant. Though his eyes were closed, his senses clarified, and all of nature called out to him—the earth below, the rain and the mud, and especially the woods about. He spoke back to the trees, and they listened.

  A splintering sound caught the attention of the velbeast, but too late to react. Poised above the wounded gendarme, it spun its grotesque head just in time to see the giant spruce come crashing down. Monster and man disappeared beneath tons of bark, needle, and cone. Then all was still.

  Jak saw this without looking. His mind had formed the image, watched its progress, then gone blank. Alas, he was incapable of watching any other way. His neck would not turn, and his eyelids were far too heavy to open, just as his body was too heavy to stand.

  He could hear the shouts of the others, however. Kluber was still beside him, holding Jak up as his legs tried to collapse completely. Then Calla’s voice joined the din, much closer than expected. She had not run away, after all. Only retreated to the trees with Margo, Mara, and the other refugees. They had watched everything.

  Jak heard all their voices now—even quiet Simpa, asking her father if the man with the scary beard was going to die. It took a moment for Jak to realize she spoke of him.

  Once again pulling away from Kluber, he felt the impact of soft earth on his palms. Leaning forward, mouth open, he emptied his stomach of its meager contents.

  Though the air was wet and cold, sweat dripped down from his sweltering temples. He used his good hand to hold himself up. The other—bloody and burnt—he tucked inside his tunic to spare the children from the sight.

  A different hand, soft and comforting, began rubbing his shoulder. Another slowly began stroking his ratty hair. Calla said nothing, but her presence meant everything.

  “I had…no choice,” he mumbled.

  She shushed him, then gently kissed the back of his neck. “There’s always a choice,” she whispered.

  She doesn’t understand. Yet Jak was in no mood to argue, and her touch was more important than approval.

  Slowly, he felt strength returning to his muscles. Aware that he was making a spectacle, knowing how much work remained, Jak decided this break had gone on long enough. He nodded and sat up straight. Calla squeezed his shoulder once, then let go. Jak tested his neck, lifted his face to the sky, and felt the soothing touch of light rain on his cheeks. At last, he forced open his eyes, fearful that his sight was forever lost.

  The sky was gray, but lighter than he last recalled. The clouds were easing, for the moment. But soon there would be more beasts, more demons, and more darkness.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Jak’s damaged hand was hidden beneath bandages. His healthy hand was clenched tight in Simpa’s, her delicate fingers belying a surprising strength.

  He enjoyed walking beside her more than any other. She spoke now with the bossiness of youth—usually to prompt him from one story to another—but her scant words were sweet music, and the child’s pace she set for them was the fastest he could manage. Jak’s muscles remained weak, and his balance was even slower in returning. Walking side-by-side, hand-in-hand with the little girl allowed him to hide his weakness from the others.

  From Calla, in particular. She had never hidden her disapproval of his obsession with unnatural lore, even when it had only meant time away from his friends. She believed using the Eye of Orkus was affecting his mind and personality, despite all reassurances to the contrary. Now she had evidence that these powers did real injury to his body, which made his arguments far more difficult to maintain.

  What she could not understand was that he did it for them. His entire life had been spent serving others, helping his masters and his friends. Surely, it was only natural that he would seek to defend them from harm, of which there was no shortage in these chaotic times.

  “You stopped,” Simpa admonished him. “Go on.”

  Jak grinned down at the face full of impatient curiosity. “Where was I?”

  “The fox made a bargain.”

  “Aye, that he did. Orkus. As the youngest and weakest of brothers and sisters, he sought more power for himself. Yet the others had taken everything for themselves—Tempus had fire, Kron the earth, Sola the sky, Todos death—”

  “Da often talks to Kron.”

  Jak nodded. “Aye, all those who work the land do. They ask Kron to give a bountiful harvest.” And the prayers fall on uncaring ears, for they know not how to really reach him.

 
“Go on,” she said again. “The fox…”

  “Aye. As the youngest and weakest of—”

  “You already said that part.”

  At least he knew the girl was paying attention. “Orkus could not bully the others the way they did him, so he became accustomed to using his wits to get what he wanted. He out-clevered them, you might say. And therein discovered his answer. So Orkus went to his eldest brother Theus, who alone could bestow more power to his siblings. All that could be seen or touched was taken, but Orkus wished to command what could not. Wisdom. Cunning. Knowledge.”

  Simpa scoffed. “Who needs those?”

  Jak laughed. “Not as useful as a good hoe or sword, I grant you, but they have their place. Knowledge is letting me tell you this story, for example.”

  Not far away, he heard Kluber chuckle. Glancing toward his friends, Jak even saw Calla smirk for an instant, before looking away. A welcome sight, and far too uncommon.

  “But you’re right, Simpa. Wisdom has its limits. Orkus was still at the mercy of his brothers and sisters, who liked to torment him as only siblings can. This time he went to Kron and asked for protection—”

  “Is Kron a fox, too?”

  “Nay, Kron is a scorpion, with two tails.”

  “How can a fox and scorpion be brothers?”

  Because they aren’t really animals, those are just the forms made up by hrathans to make the devils more palatable. “What a great question, Simpa. I’m afraid I don’t know the answer. Do you still want to hear the rest?”

  “Okay.” But he could tell she was disappointed in him. In her eyes, he was no longer the man who knew everything. That was probably for the best, since he knew almost nothing.

  “Well, Kron asked for one favor after another. Orkus performed them all, and in the end his brother agreed to protect him. They made a pact that so long as Orkus touched the earth, Kron would shield him from harm.”